Lilith knows.

When it's time for someone to go to Donamostagos, it's over. There's no gravity when you arrive and your memories of humanity are gone. You have to learn gravity on your own as you fall from the top. It's an endless crawl upward from the face of a thousand eyes. It's bloodlit. The sky is pitch black and there are no women there because Lilith kills them before they can hit the bottom. She is the only thing that resembles a woman in Donamostagos, and she is the pure embodiment of hate.

The world is vampiric and we both understand this. She talks a lot. We don't really argue but she argues with everyone else. I just try to make her laugh and sometimes it sounds like screaming. When we enter a circle magician melee with each other it's not exactly easy, we both just understand what's going on and let it happen until it ends. Lilith is weird. They're all really scared of her for very good reason, but she's also seen as their mother and hates it. She's well known for her body in the way it fucks with everyone's head. Not as a succubus, but as the only person that possesses all knowledge of all of them and is waiting for when to strike. Lilith is the throne of hate and sits on it. That's purposely her body and she's not hiding it from anyone.

Hate is hard on my body. I've been focusing really hard on it in a very hateful way in this first time in my life. This isn't because of Lilith at all surprisingly. I just have taboo feelings around hate because of her. I flat out admitted other people's perception of me is not enough in this existence. I hate how I'm perceived by myself in my day to day life. So I've been doing things to get it out. I realized the body isn't the point of this kind of work, my body is an accumulation of the consequences of other's perceptions as well as my own. There's too much permission to be asked for from others. It's rot. Nasty rot that goes on for ever, I find it interesting and she thinks it's beautiful to see people fall into hate and let it stampede their mind instead of wielding it like she does. She's her own sword and so am I.

The work is easy. Lie back, watch the burning ember of the incense stick glow bright red against black. The ashes break off and fall upon my chest and it burns. "Ow!" The demons passing through my eyes don't even mock me "You are beautiful, baby" and I silently confirm that I know. My clothes are handmade and the harness upon my legs drapes the silver hardware like wires. I admire the small bruise on my jawline like a memoir and start to cry.

There's no more hate in this body.